The King and the Ranger
by Stuffthename
Summary: Well, my first story... please be kind. A tale about an Orc and a Ranger and their misadventures through the world of Oblivion. Sorry about the bad summary but I haven't quite worked out what's going to happen.


Orlog gro-Romak steadied his breathing to a slight gasping, his heart racing in his chest, urging him to turn berserk. The roar of the Arena crowd urged him on, chanting his name before the announcer had even started speaking. The Arena gates lowered and Orlog could see his opponent clearly now, a half-Troll half-Orc bastard that was at least twice the average Orc's height, wielding a giant hammer in one hand and a small table as a shield in the other. As Orlog stepped onto the Arena's floor everything became quieter, more serene, and slower to his eye. Even his heart beat was slowed as the berserk rushed over him. He tightened his grip on his twin axes and charged at the half-troll.

The half-troll was waiting for him, the table being slammed down into his path, hoping to side sweep the Orc away. But Orlog was too smart and quick for the half-troll, stepping onto the rim of the table and jumping onto the half-troll's flank, ripping into the flesh with axe and teeth. The half-troll howled with rage and slammed its hammer into its shoulder, barely missing Orlog, and screamed in pain.

Orlog let go of the half-troll and dropped onto the sand, slicing the half-troll's belly open with his axes, and kicked the dying beast onto its back. He then turned and roared to the crowd in triumph but a hush spread through the Arena to Orlog's surprise. He turned back to see the last of the half-troll's guts being sucked back into its belly and the slash being healed over.

The half-troll smiled at Orlog, showing its rotten fangs to the Orc, and swung its table-shield at his head. Orlog recovered enough from the sight of the half-troll's amazing regenerative abilities to duck and roll out of the table's way, coming back around to the half-troll's side and digging both axes into the exposed flank. The half-troll just turned its head and snorted at the Champion, coating his armour in a film of mucus, and swung the hammer down at him, which missed the quick witted Orc by a hair's breadth.

Thinking quickly, and using his small reserve of beast know-how, Orlog threw one of his troll-blood soaked axes into one of the torches that lined the walls of the Arena, which rapidly burst into flames. He rushed to get at the axe embedded into the Arena's wall but was flown the opposite way as the table-shield came rushing around and made contact with the Orc's chest, winding the Arena combatant as he slammed into the Arena wall.

The half-troll limped gaily to the fallen Orc, with its hammer raised, ready to pummel its foe into a red mist, but stopped short as Orlog flung something at the half-troll's face. The half-troll had only a split second to see the empty bracket where a torch usually hung before his whole upper body combusted into an inferno, the flames greedily eating the half-troll's dry flesh and matted hair.

Orlog bellowed a challenge as he rushed the flame-ridden half-troll and leapt onto its back, driving his remaining axe's wedge-shaped blade into the back of the half-troll's skull, severing the spinal column from the brain. He rolled away from the burning half-troll's body and roared to the crowd, who cheered and chanted his name as he waved his fists in the air.

He limped over to the other side of the Arena and plucked his axe from the wall and hung both axes down his sides. He stopped and stood in the middle of the Arena as the announcer yelled his approval of the win, and congratulated Orlog for a spectacular victory. The Orc then walked down a long walkway down to the Arena Bloodworks and slumped into the Basin of Renewal, the healing waters banishing the berserk headache and any cuts and bruises that he had received during the match.

A Redguard walked around the corner and placed a hand on the battered Orc's shoulder.

"You are truly the greatest fighter we've ever had, Orlog. The crowds have created for you an Arena name: The Red King! That is a name worthy for the Arena Grand Champion!"

Orlog gritted his teeth as the healing waters spread through his body. "Owyn, the crowds can call me whatever they want. My true name doesn't matter now anyway."

Owyn smiled, "Yes, well… I try not to pry into my money-maker's past so… See you in the Arena next week." The Redguard walked away from Orlog, both their purses heavier.

The Red King watched as his fans crowded the streets before him, throwing gold septims at his feet, kissing the ground as he walked across it, and chanted his name over and over again. They threw themselves at the Arena Champion, asking him to name their child or to bless a new crop for added wealth. All Orlog could do was sigh and do the best he could to shoulder his way through the masses and into the Merchant's Inn. The Innkeeper, a snot-nosed Imperial by the name of Velus Hosidius, looked at the Orc and smiled a white-toothed smile as he rushed to take Orlog to the best table.

"Arena Grand Champions eat free here," The Innkeeper was basically brimming with happiness. "What would you like?"

Orlog was almost blinded by the shine of the Imperial's smile. "Uh, how 'bout you get rid of them people crowding the doorway there?"

The fans were in such a rush to go to the Red King's table that they had got themselves all bunched up in the doorway to the inn, comical body parts sticking out here and there, so the Innkeeper brought out his most sturdy broom and pushed at the heap of bodies until they burst out into the street.

"And stay out, ruffians!" Velus called with a grin, closing and locking the door. "There, now you may eat in peace, milord."

"Thank you." Orlog flipped a few septims toward the Innkeeper. "I'll come to you with my order."

As the Innkeeper left Orlog got a better chance to study the room he was in. There was one other patron leaning on his chair off in the shadows, with his back to the wall. Orlog gave the stranger no more thought as Velus Hosidius came to his table, a young man close behind him.

"Would ye mind doin' an old man a favour? Sign this young fella's shield?"

Orlog sighed gruffly and held out his hand, grabbing for the shield, but was smashed in the face with it instead as the young man lunged at the stunned Orc, pinning him down to the ground. Orlog tried to fight back but found himself under the thrall of a paralyse spell, unable to move anything but his eyes.

"This is for Thelias Nerelli," The young man was strong for one of his stature, "He didn't deserve the fate you gave to him!"

Orlog vaguely remembered the name as the Imperial slammed his head into the floor with the shield. He remembered an old Imperial, copper hair with a small scratchy beard, and saw the resemblance in the young man between the shield and moments of blackness. Then the barrage of shield on head stopped as sudden as it began, a knife to the young man's throat.

"Step away from the orc slowly." The voice was rough and scratchy to the ears, like it hadn't been used in a while. "That's a good boy. Now drop the shield and walk out the door."

The Innkeeper started for the stairs but found his shirt collar stuck to the wall with a small throwing knife. Orlog was stunned, he hadn't seen the stranger move but the evidence was there, a knife perfectly thrown.

The young Imperial rushed to the door, unlocked it, and ran outside, tears streaming down his cheeks as the rush of the beating left him.

The confused Orc looked back up to see the stranger face to face with Velus.

"Now, why did you set that up," The stranger moved his face closer to the scared Innkeeper's. "And why won't I report you to the guard?"

"Well, money is money…" Velus' voice quivered as he spoke.

"That's not good enough!" The stranger slammed his fist into the wall for effect. "Tell me who that was and I'll let you live!"

"Ok, ok. He's an Imperial in the Fighter's Guild named Perenae Nerelli. The Red King over there killed his old man!"

"So you're an accomplice to murder?" A grim smile and two sparkling eyes were all that could be seen in the shadows of his hood. "That's a messy business to be in."

"I don't mean anything by it." The Innkeeper held his hands out in front of him. "I'm just a little short on septims at the moment, is all."

The stranger sighed and yanked his knife away from the wall, releasing the Innkeeper.

"The orc and I are going to leave. And you're not going to follow, nor have anyone else follow us. Understood?"

Velus Hosidius nodded vigorously as the stranger came to pick the paralysed Orc up from the floor.

"Are you all right, friend?" The stranger's voice was filled with concern. "I'm getting you out of here."

Orlog just looked at him dumbly as the stranger wrapped Orlog's arm around his shoulder, taking the weight of a fully grown Orc, armour and all, as easily as if he were holding a babe.

The Red King looked at the stranger, nodded once, then blacked out.


End file.
